The Soldier
by smarties2
Summary: Voldemort is reborn a few years early. Albus Dumbledore is murdered! The Minister looks to a young boy, the boy who lived, and makes him sign a contract that will gaurentee they have a puppet. But Harry won't allow himself to be manipulated.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: My Training, Perfect.

Harry looks up, sweat clinging to his brow as he raises his wand and screams, "Expelliarmus!" He is only seven years old, and he is facing an auror. The auror's name is Jack Harrington and he is a muggle born, not that Harry cares. He simply wants to finish this duel, which has lasted for the past two hours, and go back to sleep.

The auror casually flicks the spell away, and whispers, "You will have to do better, soldier."

Harry sneers at the auror, and sends a silent stinging hex at the auror's feet. Jack side steps it, and whispers, "CruciO!"

Harry's eyes widen at the harshness of the spell, at the manovalent magic he can practically feel searing toward him, and he casts frantically, "Protego!" The pain curse rushes past his shield, and he feels the full brunt of it hit his chest, spreading outward through every nerve fibre in his body. Pain rushes in every sense of the word, filling his world. He blacks out.

When he regains consciousness the first thing he does is stay absolutely still. He even slows down his breathing, making it nice and even as he recalls Jack's training, the lecture on what to do when captured and in an unknown situation. He knows he is the boy-who-lived, and as such a high profile target for death eaters. What happened?

He can't seem to remember no matter how hard he tries. The last thing he can remember is having a duel with Jack, which is a familiar thing to him. But now he is lying on a soft bed, and he hears whispers of Minister Fudge, alongside Jack, and the Director of the Department of Mysteries - his department, the one that is training him to be a soldier for when Voldemort returns - in the midst of a conversation.

He relaxes inwardly, knowing he hasn't been captured by death eaters. But wait, his young mind reflects, what if it is polyjuice potion, and the death eaters want to trick me into trusting them? His heart races, but he keeps a cool and collected demeanor and does not reveal a single twitch or expression on his stony young face.

Instead he strains to hear the whispers, and feels his senses sharpen. The experiments the department of mysteries unspeakables had performed on him were some of the most secretive and successful, created by geniuses of the highest levels. He hears the three men in the hospital room (or is it? It could be a death eater trap, he reminds himself) talking about him.

"Did you really have to use it, Jack?" asks Fudge, his voice a bit broken, a bit nervous. Harry can instantly make out that the Minister is afraid, but of what? Why would the Minister of Magic be afraid? It doesn't make sense.

"I did, Harry is old enough so that the curse won't have any lasting effect. A bit of bed rest will help him get back to his feet in no time, I'm sure-"

"He blacked out, Harrington," The icy cold voice of the Director echoes in the room and the other two men freeze. The Director, Harry knows from personal experience, rarely ever speaks. "A seven year old boy shouldn't black out. He should still be conscious, so it seems that one of our experiments was a failure. To determine which one will be very complicated."

Harry wonders what the curse Jack used on him was, and as if on que he remembers, a flash of red light hitting him in the chest, and a phantom pain rushes through his arms and legs, toward the source where the curse had hit him. As if he was hit again, he feels the same effects, less intensified, but still pain beyond belief rush through him. Though he tries to keep a cool facade, to show no emotion lest he was in the grasp of death eaters intent on converting him (his mentor Jack had warned him about it many times), he can't help but scream. It feels as if the pain will last for ever. The three men turn their attention toward him.

Harry opens his eyes wide open, and he screams his throat out, screaming to get rid of the pain, a primal animalistic scream of raw emotion, of raw hurt that courses through his veins.

"Nurse, get some sedatives," The director says, but Harry can't catch the words, as if he is floating in deep water, as if he is sinking into a tub of ice cold slime. Everything fades and loses colour, and the shapes around his bed - the white grey walls and the rows and rows of empty beds, the table in the far corner next to the window - seem to distort strangely. Ah, the room is familiar, Harry thinks as the pain lessens and then fades away. He is breathing hard, hyperventilating and it is a struggle to control it, to bring it to a slow even pace from the diaphram.

He barely feels the needle plunging into his left arm as Nurse Welinda injects muggle tranquilizers into his bloodstream. Harry knows they have to use muggle medicine to inhibit the risks of magical interactions from the potion he had consumed last month that was supposed to have increased his already wiry strength.

He still hates it. He wants the instant magic cure, not this muggle shit.

Where had he learnt the swear word? Shit. Shit. "Shit shit shit!" He says, and giggles, and his green eyes look toward the man who has cared for him, trained him, taught him for the past three years, ever since they took him from the Dursleys at the age of four. Jack seems guilty, but there is a glint of determination in his eyes, and deeper than that there is an ocean of shame. Harry can see this with a strange clarity of perception he has never felt before. He wonders why the Ministry is doing this to him, the experiments, the constant duelling, the lectures, the potions, the isolation. They have been doing this to him since he was a four year old.

Ever since that day when Voldemort regained his body, using Albus Dumbledore's blood.

The head of Albus Dumbledore was found hanging on a pike in front of Hogwarts for all to see, as the green mark of the death eaters and Voldemort's personal insignia lit the darkness of the midnight hour.

The wizarding world, Harry recalls, had gone into panic mode and screamed for a solution to their problems, and who does the fearful ministry look toward but Harry Potter?

Harry giggles as he reaches his wand, feeling utterly calm, utterly placid, as he pulls his wand from his waist belt and points it at the minister.

"Crucio!" He screams, fuelling all his rage, all his darkness at the man who is indirectly responsible for his loss of a real childhood, for his isolation, for his pain.

He is quickly subdued, and punished.

By now he should know better, but later that day, after all the tests are done, he has a two hour learning session with one Dolores Umbridge and her blood quill.

He is in a state of isolation, and in his darkest nightmares he wonders if the pain will really last forever.

They decieve me, he thinks, recalling how the aurors lured him to signing the ten year contract for training. They told me they will teach me, but all they do is hurt me.

I will kill them all, he vows, as he writes in his own blood, "I will stay calm and collected at all times for I am a soldier, disciplined and loyal to the Ministry of Magic."

* * *

Chapter One: Initial Meetings

Harry is in his cupboard, looking at his hands as if they are the most important things in the world right now. He is waiting for his punishment, for what he did today. He wonders what Vernon will shout this time - not say but shout, loud and hard - and what would the punishment contain.

Will he go without food for a day? That was always reserved for the extremes. But today in the first day of class, he turned a teacher's hair blue. Harry thinks about that and chuckles softly inside. The teacher was a crab to him, and Harry doesn't feel any guilt over what he did.

The skies are dark by now, he notices, having an innate sense of time. He can hear the rain drops harder, and rumbling in the clouds from the thin wood of his cupboard. It seems to him that on night like these magical phenomenon occur, on nights like these miracles can happen. He closes his eyes and imagines himself on a lawn, lying down on cool grass looking at the stars in the sky. And he percieves the feeling through a warm filter of happiness, of calmness, for he feels the sense that he is free, free of all burduns and limitations.

But it is getting cold and Harry shivers, wishing that some miracle will take place, that he will get out of this house, go home, to his parents. They can't be dead, they couldn't have just left him here. Harry sobers at the thought of his parents really being dead. He had asked his aunt this morning after helping make breakfast, and to think of them as drunkards sickened Harry. His parents were important people, loved by those around them, not a waste or a scavenger on society's doorsteps.

The hate in his heart warms him, and in the dust of the cuboard wall, where the light flickers from the dying bulb, he draws his name with his finger. "Harry Potter."

The bell to the house rings, echoes, vibrates through the walls of his cell, or the walls of his mind because he has the feeling, the intuition that something magical is indeed about to happen to him, a miracle. His instincts had never failed him. He straightens his back, and put his utmost concentration to hearing everything.

He feels a sort of twitching on his head, and then suddenly he can hear with a crystal clarity, each heart beat - his aunt and uncle's, and the stranger at the door.

As he sinks into this new state of being, he feels he can see through closed eyelids the scene playing out on the porch. The fat man red in the face opens the door, expecting a salesman or someone of an equally annoying and trivial profession come to disturb family dinner time, but instead he sees a tall black man wearing red robes with a gold and silver trim. Hard brown eyes rest on Uncle Vernon and Harry wonders what the man will do - is he a killer? Harry thinks the strange man has the eyes of a murderer or someone who has seen a lot. His intuition tells him this - screams at his consciousness about the danger this man poses, held at bay by will alone.

"Hello Mr. Vernon, my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. May I come in and have a few minutes of your time?"

"Why should I let you in?" Vernon asked with a degree of calm, holding his rage back. "You are obviously not of our kind, your manners of speech and movement are unnatural, your clothing stinks of freakish behavior, of which I do not approve, and your face - it is so heavily scarred you might as well be the meat under a butcher's knife. Go away, you vile freak!"

Kingsley raised his wand, and held the tip to Vernon's throat. "What I had phrased as a request was my mistake. In truth, I give you no requests whatsoever, but commands. You are to obey me like you obey your superiors, muggle, for if you irk and annoy me I can make your existence a hell without end."

"What in the-" Vernon stops, frowns and looks at the strange man up and down with a critical eye. "Well then explain, wizard. If you are superior to me, like you say you are, like you falsely claim to be, then why the hell are you wearing a dress of all things?"

"Not a dress, a robe," Kingsley corrects gently. "May I come in?" His voice has a bit of coolness to it, a bit of ice, a bit of dislike and a tad more of disdain, of arrogance. To Harry, the man strikes him as contemptuous of Uncle Vernon, and he wonders why this is so. He knows Vernon is a powerful man at the company, well liked, in for a promotion in a few months, and he wonders why or how Kingsley can have such a hold on his being that he is not afraid of Vernon.

Harry's afraid of Vernon.

He always has been ever since he was dropped off here by social services, and he hates it. But now he knows something, a truth that Vernon tried to hide, and he grins in satisfaction as he hears the footsteps of the two men enter his abode, his territory. Harry hates to be the one without control, but now he has some measure of control over his situation.

Magic exists, a concept that seems alien yet familiar, and he thinks back to his time as a one year old, to memories that no boy should remember. But he remembers in dreams that end with a nightmarish sight of an ocean of green murderous light. Harry can recall precious moments of his mother and father, and knows in his soul that they were not drunks, but were great men and women.

Harry sits in his cupboard and waits, but he fingers the kitchen knife he keeps under his cot at all times, because if things went dangerous, Harry would not hesitate to defend himself. He has never allowed anyone to touch him, and he never will. Vernon once tried to beat him, but Harry dissuaded the man of any such notion right away with a fierce jab to the throat and a hard kick in the family jewels.

The cupboard door opens, and light shines in Harry's eyes. Harry looks up at the face of his aunt with emotionless expressions, like he is a statue. Still, yet fully ready to attack the woman at the first sign of hostility, he waits to be addresssed.

"Harry, you are wanted in the living room," the woman says in clipped tones, but Harry inwardly grins when he sees the fear in her eyes.

Harry nods, and follows Aunt Petunia down the stairs whereupon he stops and stretches his senses to hear what Vernon and the Other Man are speaking. But all is silent. They await his presence. Harry almost smirks, because by their silence they convey that this matter is for him, that he is important enough to warrant such focused attention.

Harry has always wanted to be important. He enters the living room with his spine erect, his head proud, and his eyes as probing as knives. Instantly gleaning information from the situation, Harry knows that the man has come for him, and him alone.

Harry takes a seat opposite the man, next to Vernon on the rose coloured sofa.

"Harry, my name is Kingsley," says the man gently, smiling softly. "I am a wizard, and so are you. Would you like to see a spell performed?"

Harry shakes his head, "I believe you but tell me, how do you perform these, what do you call them, spells?"

"Yes, spells," Kingsley says, "We do them with wands. Here, this is my wand," the man says pulling out a thin wooden stick.

"Let me hold it," Harry asks.

Kingsley hesitates for a second, which tells Harry that the words he is saying is true. The wand is indeed precious to the man, and from his response Harry will gauge how much to trust the man.

Kingsley hands Harry the wand, and passes the boy's test. Harry feels the wood, and takes a deep breath, he does the trick he always does with his senses. He extends them outward toward the wood, and feels a unique fiery sort of energy course through his arm, like electricity. He looks at the wand in amazement.

"Why are you here?" He asks, not giving the man back his wand. This puts the man on edge, but Harry wants the strange man on edge, he wants to be in control, he wants to be the superior one in this conversation because he has a feeling it will change his life.

"I have an offer to make, an offer to train you, like a true wizard. You will learn magic, of the finest sorts and you will live a life of luxury. Indeed, the ministry of magic offers you full protection from all danger to yourself, such that the wards around this house cannot even come close. You will have a contigent of aurors surrounding your presence whenever you come into public eye, to protect you from the dark lord and-"

"Who do you think I am?" Harry whispers softly, yet it halts the man suddenly. The man swallows and then says, "You are the boy who lived."

He proceeds to explain the situation, of his parents' death, of how he is famous for having defeated the dark lord temporarily, and how the ministry requires his aid, his presence as a moral boost.

Then Kingsley whips out a pile of parchment at least three inches thick, and tells Harry to read and sign, and if he does not sign, he will not be trained in magic.

Harry holds Kingsleys wand still, and when the man asks for it back, he ignores the request. Instead he says, "Show me a spell first. Describe the mechanics of casting it to me."

Kingsley describes how to cast the lumos charm, which Harry does with ease. Staring widely at the pale light that illuminates from the stick of wood, Harry grins. Such power at his finger tips. He would do anything to become powerful, important, to become a somebody.

He does not bother to read the contract, and signs it with Vernon's pen.

They take him away, and Harry decides only three weeks later he has made the biggest mistake of his life, for he has signed on a decade of his life to a government that will use him like a tool, and once broken, discard him without a second thought to his wellfare.

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Next Chapter: Harry is introduced to the wizarding world, and gives an interview. He then begins his training to be a soldier, whereupon he is trained in all forms of magic until he is ten years old. Given his first mission, he will have to decide between his duty to the wizarding world, and his innate thirst for power as he meets a certain death eater named Rosier, who offers him a place as the dark lord's heir.


	2. Chapter 2

The Soldier

Chapter Two: Where Harry Meets the Minister and Makes an Enemy

Harry's young life changed drastically from that day onward. Kingsley Shacklebolt allowed Harry to say goodbye to his relatives, and told him that from now onward he would not be able to see them again except for special occasions, like Christmas and so on. This suited Harry just fine. Harry sat in silence in front of his relatives, Aunt Petunia's grim face was lit up with a triumphant smirk, and Vernon too seemed pleased. Dudley, being only four, had no grasp of the siutation and started to whine about how hungry he was. Harry was glad he was going to get rid of his ugly relatives, and start a new life, a new adventure, journeying into the unknown, into the realms of wonder and amazement.

Magic, what is it like, Harry wondered. Am I particularly good at it? Do I need money to buy a wand? I should ask them.

"I'll need at least a hundred pounds," Harry told his uncle, looking him straight in the eye and behaving confidently. He knew how to act because he had overheard Vernon trying to teach Dudley how to negotiate. "To buy a wand and food. And if you don't give me the money, I'll come back one day and get revenge."

Vernon's face first turned white as fear entered his heart, but then his face filled with red rage as he roared, "Who do you think you are boy? We took you in out of the kindness of our hearts and you try to demand money from us?"

"I told you once, and I'll tell you again, but this is the last time. Either give me the money," Harry said coldly, "Or I'll come back when I've learnt a lot of magic, and I'll do terrible things to..." Harry looked at Dudley for a long moment. The nervous parents got the idea and Aunt Petunia urged Vernon to give Harry the money, which he did so with great reluctance and heated muttering.

Harry took the bills and pocketed it in his trousers. He would use the money to buy a wand, and some robes like the wizard who was waiting outside, and he would use it to buy chocolate and candy, because the Dursleys never gave him any and he always wanted to try some. Harry grinned inwardly but showed no expression on his face as he wondered what else he could extort from his relatives. "I'll need a lunch of course. Aunt Petunia, why don't you pack me a nice filling lunch for the day?"

Aunt Petunia's lips tightened in a furious expression, and Harry let some of his smirk out, but glared Aunt Petunia into submission. She made him a lunch, and Dudley shifted nervously in silence as he did so, somehow grasping the status quo had changed.

"Dudley, go to your room," Harry said softly.

"Why should I, you're nothing but a freak, you can't order me around," Dudley said heatedly, "And don't think you can just threaten my parents like this because I won't let you. I'll fight you!"  
"I said, go to your room," Harry punctuated each word with a withering glare, "Or I'll turn your hair blue like I did to the teacher."

Dudley sneered, "You didn't do that, freak, that's unnatural and such things don't exist."

"Dudley, go to your room," Vernon said, white faced. "Just go."

Dudley glared at his father, and ran up the stairs. "Fine, I'll just play with my new toys."

Harry turned to Vernon, "This is goodbye," he said, "I'll never see you again, and you likewise."

"Make sure it stays that way, brat," grumbled Vernon, "We're rid of you from this day forward."

"There is one last thing I need from you though," Harry continued. "You keep a gun in your bedroom closet, I've seen it. I want that gun, in case the wizards try to do something mean to me."

Vernon sneered, "Let them do mean things to you, let them hurt you. Why should I care?"

"Because they may hurt me, but they will not kill me. They wouldn't go through all this trouble just to lure me into a murderous situation. They could have done it long ago. No, they will give me what I want but I need to be able to defend myself should I find myself in a situation that is not to my liking." Harry walked over to the TV, and pushed it so it rested on the very edge of the stand, almost ready to fall. "The gun, Vernon."

"You don't even know how to use it," Vernon said, glancing worriedly at the almost falling television, which was new and quite expensive, "You'll just hurt yourself with it. Be reasonable, Harry, you can't protect yourself against those people." Something akin to pity lit up in his eyes. "Stay here, don't go with them. You don't have to."

"I don't have to, but I want to. And I need the gun for my protection. If they try anything, if they try to hurt me I will kill them."

Harry said those words so emotionlessly, so mercilessly, that Vernon felt a cold chill run up his spine at Harry's mad empty green eyes and he went up to the bedroom to get the weapon Harry wanted just as Aunt Petunia came toward Harry carrying a plastic bag filled with food. She had overheard everything and as she handed Harry the food she thought it fit to give him a bit of advice. "They're useless without their wands," she hissed in Harry's ear. "If they try to hurt you grab their wands and run."

Harry nodded and waited for Vernon to come down. Aunt Petunia dissapeared back into the kitchen, her eyes a bit watery. Vernon thundered down the stairs, carrying a brown rectangular box. He opened the box to Harry, showing him the gun and he explained the mechanics of how to use it in brief fractured sentences. Then he said, "Good luck, Harry, and don't you dare show your face here again."

Harry nodded, and put the box concealing the gun in the plastic bag. He turned, and started to walk out the living room, when Dudley's backpack caught his eye. He grabbed it, and stuffed the food and the gun into the backpack which also contained some story books, a pencil box, and a few coins.

Harry watched Vernon's expression heat up with anger and indignation but Harry ignored it as he walked out the door, and hoped to God that he would never see his relatives again.

Kingsley waited outside, staring motionlessly at the gray sky. "Are you ready to go, Harry?"

"Are we taking the bus? Or the train?" Harry asked, "I hope you don't expect me to walk unless the Ministry is really close by."

Kingsley chuckled softly, "No, Harry, our mode of transportation is magic."

Kingsley grabbed Harry's shoulder and pulled out his wand. Taking a deep inward breath, he began to explain how they would get to the Ministry, something akin to teleportation, of which Harry had read a story about in the school library. Harry itched for the gun in his backpack, because he hated to be touched, but he let the man wave the wand in the air, and he felt a squeezing sensation. He closed his eyes, and opened them when the strange vertigo feeling stopped. He found himself in the interior of a large room, where there were a few men and women waiting and lounging around.

One of them was bearded grey and smoked a long pipe, and had blue eyes. Harry immediately indentified him as a dangerous man, because he had a look about him, a sort of aura, a something indescribable that Harry couldn't exactly explain but he knew somehow intuitively that the man was a killer, a murderer without mercy. And though Harry had said brave words to Vernon, he wasn't sure he could kill someone easily. He wasn't sure that he could go through with a murderous act, in part because of the fear of the consequences, and in part because although he had a tough exterior, he was inwardly a moral person forced by circumstances to do immoral things like steal Vernon's money.

They welcomed him with open arms, and made him comfortable. They conjured food from thin air, and had a welcoming lunch. Harry ate slowly, but with great pleasure at the wide variety of foods offered. When Kingsley handed the Minister the scroll that Harry had signed, he had a sudden thought that worried him because he heard Vernon talking about signing contracts with clients and how he had put a small clause in that brought him great profit, a clause which the client hadn't bothered to read thouroughly.

Harry cleared his throat and instantly the table silenced. "I want to read the contract, and I want a lawyer present to explain it to me."

"Ah Harry," said Minister Fudge with a sly smile, "You already signed it see, and Kingsley assures me that your gaurdians were present to oversee the signing."

"That's a lie, the man over there forced me to sign it," Harry declared confidently, "My relatives were not allowed in the same room as me when he gave me the contract."  
Kingsley looked down at Harry with much surprise, and a deal of anger, "What?" He hissed, "You spoiled little shit, your relatives were there!"

Harry sent him a cold look and he said, "The man who brought me here is not only a liar, but he also tried to injure me. A child abuser like him should not be in the very presence of respectable people like you and I. Instead he should go to prison! He hit me in the arm when I wouldn't sign it." Harry lifted the sleeve of his tee shirt and showed the bruise he acquired in a fight with Dudley on school grounds. "So I didn't sign the contract willingly you see, but rather he forced me to sign it. Why then, should I not get a lawyer?"

Minister Fudge glared at Kingsley and hissed, "Is this true? As an auror your behavior is despicable. You were told to handle this situation diplomatically and you were picked for your level headedness, and you... you..." He spluttered in incoherent rage. "You hit the boy-who-lived!"

The others seated at the table, all wearing rich clothes such that Harry had discerned they were powerful men and women looked equally outraged and proceeded to tear Kingsley to shreds while the auror tried in vain to preserve his reputation. He gave Harry one last glare and fled the room when the Minister announced that he was fired and wouldn't work in the Ministry ever again.

Then the Minister turned toward Harry, who had waited in silence throughout the ordeal, and said, "Harry, my boy, you see you already signed the contract and it is magical in nature so you can't unsign it. I'm afraid what's done is done."

Harry glared at the minister as he realized his ploy didn't work and he had just gained an enemy in Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Well then, Minister, what makes you think I will go along with the terms of the contract when I was forced under duress by one of your henchmen? You are a villain!"

The others at the table gasped, and some leaned forward in great interest as Harry folded his arms over his chest. "I will go to all the newspapers I can find and tell them of your tricks and your devious ways. You are no better than Voldemort!"

There was instant silence, and such a silence heavy with emotion in the eyes of the dining men and women of high positions in the Ministry, that Harry wondered if he had made a mistake.

The dinner finished quickly, also in silence, and nobody would say another word, but rather kept their head down and mumbled to each other in whispers. Harry didn't like to be ignored but he knew he could do little else. He wondered again had he made a mistake, but he knew that they were taking advantage of him by not letting him even read the contract.

Harry was led to a room that looked similiar to a hotel. He liked the luxury of it but he couldn't get a good night's sleep. He was worried about the contract too much. He looked through his backpack and pulled out the gleaming black gun. He went back to the short explanation that Vernon had given him and he unlatched the safety pin on the gun. He took aim at a flower put but he didn't fire. Instead, mentally, he visualized himself using the gun to kill the Minister but he knew it would get him nowhere because he had no way to escape the Ministry. The man - Kingsley - had apparrated him into this building, and Harry did not even know where it was located, but he knew it was underground because he couldn't see any windows. He stretched his senses, while holding the gun, and found two bodyguards situated outside his room, standing immobile. With closed eyes he sensed their slow even breathing, and found them to be drowsy and almost asleep but yet still aware enough to stop Harry from leaving.

Harry sighed, and tried to sleep some more but found himself wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

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AN: I know in the previous chapter I said he would meet his first death eater. Rest assured that event shall indeed come to pass but for now be patient my readers because the pacing must take precedence over scenes of excitement. In the meantime ladden me with your reviews and encouragement, and make me fat over a diet of praise and goodwill such that I can write with great happiness that there are people who want to read this story and eagerly await my updates. Also feel free to criticize, for they are the scalpels that shape the statues of artistry and turn blocks of granite into Michealangelo's David.


	3. Chapter 3

The Soldier

Chapter Three: In Which Harry Finds a Friend

The next few weeks passed quickly for Harry, and he heard nothing about the contract despite making enquiries from many of the ministry officials he had come across. He was given a wide tour of the Ministry building and he examined all the various offices, commiting to memory the layout of the Ministry structure both politically, socially, and physically. He found out that the purebloods had the most power and thus he set about making conversation with many of them to gain advantages and to promote himself. In particular he had many delightful conversations with Lucius Malfoy, who took great joy in explaining the mechanics of the wizarding world to the ignorant boy who lived. Harry was a fast learner.

The Minister was happy with this behavior and treated Harry cordially albeit coldly due to his harsh words on their first meeting. Harry apologized for what he had said, and the Minister became jovial toward Harry again. "Sir, can I perhaps read the contract I was forced to sign?" Harry asked.

"About the force, Harry," The Minister began, a twinkle in his eye. "You see, we tested Kingsley under veriteserum and it turns out your tale is nothing but that, a tale, and accordingly we, the Ministry, have determined through due legal procedures that the contract is in effect still standing and perfectly legitimate. According to the contract you are not allowed to peruse it after the first reading and signing of the papers, so I am afraid I have to deny your request."

Harry nodded numbly, and inwardly began to plot his revenge, "Well then Minister, what does the contract say I have to do, to learn magic?"

"Ah, you want to learn magic, now?" Fudge asked, smiling widely. "Well for that you need a wand, and to get a wand you have to visit Diagon Alley, and of course the press wants to speak with you, so to begin your training we will first have to discuss your press conference. I have much experience talking to the newspapers, and I will help you, guide you in what you have to say."

"I see," Harry said, knowing he was in a bind, and the Ministry would use him as a poster child despite what he wished. "Well then, tell me, how long is the contract supposed to last?"

"Ten years," Fudge said, grinning like a fox as he patted Harry on the shoulder and walked away.

Harry let out a breath and unclenched his fist, which he noticed was tightened so hard that his nails drew blood from his palms. Get in control, he demanded of himself, as he tried to push his anger away.

He instead went to his suite at the top floor of the ministry, which was designated as private and fit for only high end ministry officials from other countries. So Harry walked down the red carpeted corridor to his room, hoping he would meet some ambassadors from other magical countries so he could talk to them, probe them for information, and thus heighten his power and control in this new world. Perhaps he could explain his situation and get some more sympathy. He was dissapointed in that the hallway was empty. However, in a fit of courage brought on by the memory of Fudge's arrogant smile - as if he had outwitted Harry Potter - Harry decided to knock on a door, a seemingly random red wood door with golden numerals that read 331.

Harry knocked, and a deep voice said, "Come in, please."

Harry put his hand on the knob but was surprised when the door swung open on its own. He schooled his expression into a mask of indifference, as if he was used to such strange paranormal behavior and entered the ambassador's "house" which as Harry had previously decided, looked more like a hotel room than anything else judging by his own room. Harry looked around, and saw rows and rows, stacks upon stacks of parchments scrolls and books littering the floor of the living room, and leaking into the kitchen as well. The man who had called him inside was seated on a leather black armchair, his hands resting around a cup of hot tea, and his face jovial, old, and looking slightly senile. There was a sharp twinkle in his brown eyes that bespoke of intelligence. Harry bowed to the man.

"My name is Harry Potter, and I am about to be six years old. People say I am highly intelligent for my age, and my future dream is to be the greatest wizard in the world." He didn't know why he said that and he was surprised, mortified, that his greatest secrets were revealed so easily, by his own hand too. He instantly put his hand on his mouth, just as the old man started to chuckle.

"There is a charm on the box you are standing on," said the old man in a wheezy voice, "It compels the victim to introduce himself to my liking."

Harry glared at the old man and looked down toward his feet wehre he could see a box drawn in chalk with mysterious hyroglyphic runes scrawled all inside it. Harry felt estatic because he loved all sorts of magic and he had never seen such runes before. He wanted to learn, and he wanted the old man to teach him, or at least lend him some books.

"So your secret desire is to be the greatest wizard to ever live, hmm?" The old man said, "Forgive me, let me introduce myself to you, as you have done to me so kindly, so willingly," There was a smirk in the man's eyes. Harry started to hate that man but he leaned forward as the man said in almost a whisper.

"I am the ambassador from Albania, and my home is being terrorized by death eaters and Lord Voldemort. I have come to request aid from Britain's vast auror forces, which I have noticed are already stretched thin. So have many other countries come to the stronghold that is Britain to request aid in order to deal with this mad man, this lunatic who calls himself a dark lord."

"What is your name?" Harry asked, "Tell me your age as well, since I told you so much of me."

"My name is Leonard Roswell, and I am eighty one years old. I have a mastery in runes and potions, and I am more a scholar than a warrior, a man of the pen rather than the sword. Do you get my meaning?"

"I have read stories of both sorts," Harry said, "In my school library. I have read hundreds of books there and it is my belief that a man needs to be both, a master of the pen as well as a master of the sword. Only then can he succeed, only then can he gain power over others."

"You are intelligent far beyond your years, I see. Your introduction was not mere boasting but rather cold precise fact. Welcome to my abode, Harry, and make yourself at home. I have a vast collection of books here. You are welcome to them, you are welcome to expand your knowledge," Leonard said, "On the condition that you promise me you will speak to the Minister and the press about aiding Albania."

"Hmm, okay then," Harry said, nodding his head, "Fudge is gearing me for a press conference and I will place your case for Albania's benefit. Do not doubt me, for I will bring you the help and aid you need from Britain if you teach me all you know about magic."

Leonard chuckled to himself, "That might take some time, Harry, I know almost as much as the great Albus Dumbledore, we were colleuges and he was a great man. A shame he died... things would have been so much different had he been around to oppose and quarantine the dark lord."

"Who is this Albus Dumbledore? I have heard fragments and whispers about him but not everything, not the whole picture. You can start by telling me about this man, his accomplishments, and why he was so important to Voldemort."

Leonard nodded his head, and pulled out his wand. Harry looked at it hungrily, and wondered if he might be able to steal it so he could practice some spells and charms. He wanted a wand of his own to cast magic. He couldn't bear to be wandless, to be so powerless. But he always carried his backpack with him, even now, and he knew should he be attacked he would pull out his gun and kill without remorse, kill with brutal efficiency to all those who would dare harm him.

Leonard conjured a leather armchair much like his own, except this was green and gold in colour. Harry sat down opposite him on the armchair as Leonard conjured some more tea, which Harry happily accepted along with some blueberry scones. He ate his fill as Leonard proceeded to tell of Albus Dumbledore.

---- The Tale of Albus Dumbledore, as told by Leonard the Friend ----

In those days, times were touch because the muggles had some wind of what was going on. Only a few of them mind you, but it was enough for wizards to be on guard as they faced a secret group of muggles and muggle borns whose sole purpose was to hunt down pureblood wizards. It was a time of particular fear when the Stonemasons - for that was what they called themselves - decided to exterminate the purebloods, few in number in comparison to muggles and mudbloods.

Now don't look so hateful at the term. I am an old man and old habits die hard. It was a common name for them that carried no negative connnotation back then. Indeed it was a name that was given to them to mark their unique place in the wizarding world, and they were accepted. But they wanted more than their stations would allow and that was when the problem arose.

It mainly began with Albus Dumbledore's mother, who decided to start an organization called the Order of the Pheonix, self proclaimed leaders of the light side. Albus's mother, like Albus himself had a pheonix familiar. The same one in fact. It runs down the family actually, a family heirloom, much like the Potter's heir looms is their famous invisibility cloaks.

Albus grew to be a fine wizard in Hogwarts, acing all his tests and so forth. But he got in some bad company, and in those times there was no bad reputation associated with using the unforgivables on muggles. So him and Gellert Grindelwauld grew to be fast friends, and expert muggle hunters. But Gellert turned to the dark side, getting progressively more and more evil until he killed Albus's sister, Ariana.

Hmm... let's see if I remember this right, no it wasn't just him that was the murderer. Albus went along too in a way, a complicit, an accessory, whatever you want to call it. My foggy mind does not have the right words but rest assured Albus was just as guilty of his sister's death. It changed him very much. He got into a lonesome state, and beame a researcher and an apprentice under the great Nicholas Flamel, who by chance, is now the headmaster of Hogwarts.

Thirty years passed in relative peace until a new dark lord announced his presence, who other but Gellert Grindelwauld? Albus took up a position as Hogwarts' transfiguration teacher, but that was just his day job. With his mother's passing he took up the role as leader of the order of the pohenix and fought Grindelwauld from the shadows, eliminating his best resources, destroying Grindelwauld's greatest assets, all in secret, just like he did to Voldemort in the first war.

Hmm where does this tale take us, what would you like to know more about Harry?

---- Here Harry asks a question to Leonard, "How did Albus Dumbledore become so powerful though? I read his chocolate frog card and it states that he is the most powerful contemperary wizard the world has ever known save for Voldemort."

The story continues, and Leonard takes a sip of tea, and then says in his raspy voice.

----

"He was always powerful Harry. He just had the talent and the brains, much like Voldemort, much like you. I can help you, but only if you help me. We will continue this story tomorrow for I am tied."

Leonard sighed wearily, "Please, help my country, help Albania's terrorized villagers and peasants, and innocents. And I promise, I make a magical oath right now, that I will help you become strong, I will help you become great to the best extent of my ability. You will never lack a true friend so long as I am alive."

Harry nodded, and thanked the man for his time. "I will help you Leonard, and you will help me. We are, as you said, friends now. Do you mind if I borrow a few books from your vast collection though?"

Leonard nodded his head, and looked very pleased that Harry had called him a friend and that he would help Albania. "You may take anything you like so long as you return them in three days. You can come here as often as you like as well. I think that being a voracious reader will be very advantageous to your position. Would you like me to reccomend a few books about the state of contemporary society?"

Leonard got up from is armchair, and using a cane he hobbled toward the back shelves and brought Harry four books about the modern world, which Harry took, setting it aside. He also browsed through the collection of scrolls and picked some about magical theory, wandless magic, and a strange book called, "The Power of Love." He only picked the last one because it was written by Albus Dumbledore.


End file.
